


Somehow, I Want More

by SammysGirl666



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Sam is 16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 19:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3499775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SammysGirl666/pseuds/SammysGirl666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's first date doesn't go as well as he hoped it would but, really, those girls never stood a chance. Not when he's got Dean at home waiting for him. </p><p>Done for the prompt: pining!dean helping 15/16 yr old sam get ready for his first date and waiting up for him but sam comes home early because it didn't feel right or something and dean giving him a consoling kiss on the forehead before sam takes it further and ends up riding dean on the couch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somehow, I Want More

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a drabble prompt that got WAY out of hand.

 It’s a little bit like torture, Dean imagines. Emotional torture if such a thing exists. It’s bad enough that he’s spent the last few months dealing with the rights and wrongs of his current situation. From which, he’s decided, (as with most things in his life) that as long as he never acts on it and as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone, then it’s okay. That doesn’t, by any means, make it easier to handle.

Especially on nights like tonight, when it’s being thrown directly back in his face.

Sam’s in the bathroom, taking a shower, getting ready. He’s getting ready for his first date. When he’d told Dean, he’d been so excited and Dean had put on a happy face. Now, he sits, brooding. Sam wants his help to get ready. He wants Dean to teach him how to talk to girls and there’s nothing in the world that Dean wants less than to help his brother pick up chicks.

But he can’t say any of that and he can’t deny Sam these very basic, come-of-age things, so he buries his hatchet and helps Sam as best he can. Right now, he’s sitting on the bed, scowling at three outfits. They’re all pretty much the same but Sam wants Dean to pick out his favorite because he wants to look good for tonight. 

The stupid thing is Dean is actually looking at each outfit individually, mentally remarking what works and what doesn’t. He sighs heavily and goes for the blue flannel and black jeans with the brown belt. Sam will just wear his boots and, Dean’s decided, no jacket.

His brother’s got a nice lean body, one that shouldn’t be covered up by layers of clothing. He shakes his head and clears his throat, trying not to picture exactly what Sam’s lean body looks like without a shirt covering it up at all. 

"So that one?" Sam asks, as he steps out of the bathroom. He’s got nothing but his boxers on and he’s rubbing a towel over his hair. Dean swallows and tries to keep his eyes on Sam’s face.

"Uh, yeah," Dean answers, standing up and handing the blue flannel to his brother.

Sam grabs it and Dean turns around as his brother gets ready. He doesn’t really know if he can handle watching Sam shirtless for too long. When Sam gets his clothes on, Dean has to fight himself not to put his hands on his brother. Sam looks good, fucking edible.

Dean’s actually relieved when the girl pulls up outside and Sam leaves, telling him to not wait up. 

Dean prepares himself for a long, agonizing night of jerking off and obsessively thinking about what Sam’s doing on his date. He figures he’ll make some dinner, turn on the TV and try to relax as long as he can before he starts picturing Sammy nailing some broad.

That’s the plan, anyway. Dean makes dinner, and sits down in front of the TV. He decides on Stark Trek and only makes it through two episodes before Sam is coming back through the motel door, looking put off and uncertain.

"Something happen?" Dean asks, mind immediately going to the worst case scenario. "You’ve only been gone like an hour."

Sam shrugs, looking disgruntled and confused as he unbuttons his flannel and kicks off his boots. He comes to sit by Dean on the couch and, when he does, he sits close, too close for Dean not to hold his breath. But he manages to act somewhat normal as he waits for Sam to relay the events of his first date.

"It was weird," Sam finally says, sighing and resting his chin on his hands. "I mean, we were having fun at first, ya know? We were talking and joking but then she started to get all…affectionate." Sam pauses and his brow furrows as he frowns. "And, I mean, I guess that’s normal enough. I’m her date. She obviously expected to be more into her. It just didn’t feel right."

"Did she do something?" Dean asks, still confused and extremely relieved.

"No," Sam assures, "it’s not her fault. Not really. I mean, this was bound to happen. The only person I’ve ever been attracted to is—" Sam stops himself, looking bewildered as if he can’t believe what he’s just said. Then he shakes his head as if to clear it and continues,"it doesn’t matter anyway. It was just one date. I’m sure there will be others." 

"Ah Sammy," Dean says, trying not to show how pleased he is with the news, "there’ll be other girls. I promise you."

He gets up off the couch and hovers above Sam for a moment,

"You’re a catch, Sammy," Dean comforts, and then he leans over and presses a gentle kiss to Sam’s forehead. 

It’s not exactly a foreign gesture of comfort. Dean used to do it all the time when Sam was a kid. For some reason, though, when Dean does it now, it feels strangely intimate and almost…inappropriate. When he goes to pull away from the soft kiss, Sam grabs his wrist, stopping him. Dean pulls his mouth back and Sam tilts his head up. 

They’re nose to nose.

Dean’s heart in his throat and he’s practically vibrating. Being this close to Sammy is dangerous. It’s fatal. But Sam’s looking at him, hazel eyes intense. 

"I know why my date sucked Dean," Sam says lowly, his breath ghosting across Dean’s lips as he talks. They’re so close and Dean’s not going to last long if Sam doesn’t let him go.

"She a butterface?" Dean tries, attempting to lighten the mood and play the whole thing off as a joke. Sam breathes out a laugh and shakes his head minutely. His hands leave Dean’s wrists and snake around to the back of his neck.

"She wasn’t you, you idiot." 

The words hang there for, what seems, like a long time. Dean doesn’t know if he’s heard right or if he’s a hallucinating or if this is a particularly vivid dream. But Sam isn’t moving, they’re nose to nose and their eyes are locked but neither of them has made any move to break the tension. Dean’s heart is pounding now, and his eyes must be comically wide as sweat beads up on his forehead. What the hell is this kid doing to him?

Dean isn’t sure what to do. It’s a lot to take in all at once. A few hours ago, he was preparing to jerk off to thoughts of his brother. Never, in his life, did he think he would get the real thing. And now that it’s being offered, what is he supposed to do? Let it happen? Take what he wants? Isn’t he supposed to be the responsible one? 

But if Sam wants it too…

"I know you feel the same way, Dean," Sam says, breaking the silence. "And I know it’s a lot to understand but I want this too, Dean. And you didn’t make me this way or whatever else you’re thinking in that thick head of yours. I want this and you do too and neither of has wanted to do anything about it but I’m tired to just wanting it. I want to have it, Dean. I want it to be ours."

Dean wants that too. He’s still shocked, still too surprised to talk. And he knows they’ll have to rehash this later and talk about the bigger picture. But, right now, he just wants.

And he’s tired of wanting.

So, preparing himself for a world of repercussions and bad karma, he leans in, capturing Sam’s mouth in a gentle kiss. Sam doesn’t respond right way, gasping into Dean’s mouth in surprise. But he picks it up quickly and their lips meet again and again, getting hungrier each time. Sam pulls Dean onto the couch, making the older hunter sit down. 

Then, without warning, Dean has a lap full of Sammy. Their lips meet again, this time relentlessly. They devour each other’s mouths and it’s desperate and needy and hot and not so much kissing as it is a futile attempt to crawl into each other’s skin and live there. 

And it’s twisted, the way they love each other and tear at each other, like close enough is never close enough. It’s kind of morbid and bloody but it’s them and when Dean’s finally sitting there, naked with a naked Sammy straddling him, he knows that enough will never be enough. And how he could want so much and still want more is ludicrous, but he does. He just wants Sam  _closer,_  he wants to share his blood and his breath and it’s kind of fucked up but beautiful in its own right.

"Sam, Sammy," Dean gasps, as their naked cocks rub against each other. Sam’s gorgeous, all lean muscles and miles of subtly tanned skin. Dean doesn’t have enough of hands as he runs them reverently over Sam’s rib cage, down to his hips and then splays them outward toward his thighs.

Dean’s never been more turned on in his life. He’s so hard up for it, he’s dizzy and Sam’s skin against his is like a drug no one has a name for. And he bites kisses into the hollow of Sam’s neck and the younger boy is writhing against him and, Jesus, nothing should ever feel this good. 

"Dean," Sam moans as their rutting gets faster. 

Dean grabs Sam’s head by the hair, fixing his fingers in the soft locks and pulling Sam down for a brutal kiss as they thrust against each other. Dean’s lost, body sweaty with exertion and their skin slides together wetly as they tongue fuck each other’s mouths.

They’re all nails and lips and teeth and a constant, resounding thrum in their veins of  _more, more, more_.

And enough will never be enough. Sam moves his hips faster, and their cocks slide more easily together as they become slick with precome and nothing has ever felt this amazing. Dean could blackout from this pleasure and he still might.

Sam’s hips are lethal, the way they gyrate and twist and move, like they’re fucking made for this. And, Christ, Dean’t can’t wait until he gets to be buried inside that tight little ass. But that will have to wait because Dean couldn’t stop this for the world.

"Fuck Sammy," Dean grunts, "so fucking perfect, fucking made for this, aren’t you?"

Sam whines pathetically, his hips moving faster, hands flying to Dean’s shoulders as he ruts harder and harder against his brother. A hot pressure begins to build in Dean’s stomach, something warm and familiar but brand new in the face of Sam riding him like this.

"Gonna fuck you next time, Sammy," Dean pants, "fuck that pretty ass of yours."

Sam groans and they move even faster against each other, to the point of incoherence as they each chase their orgasm. The sweat between them builds as Sam moves frantically against Dean, a fast paced thrust of hips that Dean can barely keep up with.

"Oh fuck!" Sam shouts, "Oh Dean! Fuck, big brother, gonna come, gonna fuckin—!" 

Sam lets out a loud groan and his hips stutter and Dean’s eyes fixate on Sam’s cock as it jerks once, twice, and then spurt after spurt of come coats their stomachs. Dean reaches his hand down between them to work the rest of it out of Sam, watching as the come slowly oozes to a halt and it’s so fucking hot and dirty that Dean can’t contain himself, he thrusts up against Sam and squeezes his eyes shut.  
  
"Sam!" He gasps, and then he’s coming harder than he’s ever come in his life. His come shoots out of him, hitting his chest and a spurt even manages to hit Sam’s chin and that’s even hotter so another few spurts are worked out of Dean before he collapses against the couch. He pulls Sam forward, heedless of the sweat and come between them. He just needs Sam close to him.

Sam falls against his chest, and even as their bodies dry and they become gross and sticky, the don’t move. Dean doesn’t ever want to move.

"Well," Sam says after a minute, "that’s one way to turn a bad night into a good night." 

Dean chuckles and strokes a hand through Sam’s matted hair. 

"You gonna go out with that girl again?" Dean asks jokingly. Sam shrugs, eyes glinting mischievously.

"I don’t know, maybe," he says innocently. Dean growls and tightens his arms around Sam.

"I don’t share, Sammy," he says and he’s only half kidding. "If we do this, it’s exclusive."

"That goes for you too, you know that right?" Sam teases. Dean rolls his eyes. Like he would ever need another dumb broad again when he’s got Sammy. 

There’s definitely things they need to discuss, things they need to work out if they’re going to do this right. But right now, all Dean needs is to know that Sam wants this and isn’t going anywhere. God knows Dean’s done running from this. And he knows it won’t be easy.

But nothing worth doing ever is.

**Author's Note:**

> find and follow me at fucktoysam.tumblr.com for more of my writing and to request your own prompts! 
> 
> (Did I just end a smutty wincest story with a Dumbledore quote? The answer is yes, children, yes I did.)


End file.
